Chapter FourCora stepped into the journalists' room at Broadcasting House. Typewriters clacked and pinged as writers pounded out their stories on an army of machines. Cigarette smoke hung thick in the air. Voices shouted to be heard, and laughter punctuated the buzz of conversation. Her heart hammered in her chest. She had a right to be here, but the scowling, condescending, doubtful faces of the men who watched her every move made her question her confidence.
Would there be a time when women shared the space equally? One woman for every man in the field? Her writing was good, strong. Otherwise, the UP would not have hired her. Did the men not understand that?
She straightened her spine and made a beeline for a vacant machine near the back of the room. Making her way between the tables a
